


Live and Let Live

by QueerLeFay



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: BAMF Merlin, Immortal Merlin, M/M, Rebirth, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3890092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerLeFay/pseuds/QueerLeFay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin loves living.<br/>He has accepted the fact that he'd never die and he let go; turning away from becoming a pawn of fate and destiny.<br/>But what would he do - what could he do - if he was forced to face the ghosts of his past again?<br/>If there is one thing he could be sure of, is that destiny can be such a bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live and Let Live

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been sitting in my drafts file for so long because of the writer's block I have been suffering from. It's so frustrating because I really want to just finish it. So I hope you enjoy the fruit of my months frustration.

Merlin loves living. He absolutely loves the feeling of being alive – to have that horror and uncertainty, the happiness and simple joys. He loves travelling to places that constantly change, to land that shifts and groans and settles and shifts again. He loves exploring what new inventions the human brain creates, the ever-developing technologies and ideas, the ways to make living that much easier. He loves the subtle changes in the languages human speaks, how they each develop in their own ways and get simplified and developed further until they clash and a new language is created. 

He hasn’t always loved being alive, of course – the first few years after the battle in Camlann were tough. He had lost that one purpose he had held on to ever since he had just came out of his teenage years. He had lost that one person he loved. And it felt empty, it felt hollow, it felt cold where he stood. He didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. He helped Gwen and Gaius, but that was what he had always done as a side. He needed something bigger, something that could occupy his everyday life as Arthur once did. It didn’t feel good to just float along the stream of everyone else’s lives.

Gwen moved on quickly because she had to. She had to lead her kingdom; she had to provide heirs to the kingdom. So Merlin followed her example and tried to move on from Arthur’s death. Gaius had also started to forget the once King; not because he didn’t care, but because of his advancing age. So Merlin followed his example and tried to forget, pouring his energy to fill the empty space inside of him with the knowledge Gaius had yet gave to him. 

At first, all those were enough for him, because the grief had yet to settle and the hollowness had yet to give. He still hadn’t had any real purposes. He still lived as a mirror to everyone else’s existent. He didn’t know who he was anymore. 

Then, a month after Gaius’ death, when he laid, curled up in his small room and thought about what he should do now, it occurred to him: he had no obligations to destiny anymore. He was released from his role as fate’s pawn. He had full control of his life now. He had full control of himself.

He laid still for the remainder of the day, thinking of the things he had always wanted to do but couldn’t because he had to _stay_ and _serve_. He had limitless options then, he had no boundaries, he could go anywhere and be anyone he wanted to become – he could now define his own role.

He felt warmer than he had been ever since Camlann and Arthur – warmed by the spark of life he hadn’t felt in so long, feeling its intoxicating glimmer of happiness deep in his chest. He could now start living his life.

\---

Merlin said goodbye to Gwen and Leon a few days after the new crown prince of Camelot was born. Gwen cried in his arms, wishing he would not abandon them _now_. Then he explained to her gently that he did not wish to be held back anymore, he needed to start his own story – not just a character in everyone else’s stories, and she let him go.

Percival tagged along in his journey out of Camelot, haunted still by the deaths of so many of his brothers in arms. But they went their separate ways once Percy found a village he once visited before he became a knight of Camelot and where he still had a few people to help him settle. Merlin said goodbye and Percy wished him luck. 

After that, the years bled together inside of his head. He sneaked into one of the merchant’s ship and found himself in a foreign land where the people spoke a foreign language. He stayed for a few years, ingraining himself into the place, learning the new language, sharing and receiving the knowledge of healing and magic. He left after rumours of war started to spread, sneaking away in the middle of the night, silencing the sound of his horse’s hooves and disappeared without trace. He visited one village after another, boarded another ship, sneaked into people’s lives and left them when the time came. 

He always sat out the wars; that's the only sure thing in his new life. He rooted himself in neutral places and lived under the roof of modesty. He became a physician, a builder, a teacher, an explorer, a scholar, and in one particular memorable time, a witch doctor. He appeared and disappeared with little to no personal belongings, opting instead to buy and sell the necessities that would otherwise be a burden to carry with him in his journeys. Oftentimes, without he, himself, knowing, he became the local legend – a wanderer that helped them through their hard times and disappeared soon after everything was once again set aright without any proves of his existence. He had many names, too, as he constantly adjust his name according to the time and place; though as soon as he left Camelot, he never called himself 'Merlin' anymore. He still used 'Emrys' sometimes, just for old time's sakes. He also used the name 'Lancelot' or 'Gwaine' or 'Elyan' occasionally, to honour his fallen friends. But he never used the name 'Arthur'.

\---

He didn’t go back to where Camelot was when Gwen or Leon died; he didn’t go back when Camelot fell to rumbles. He thought of Arthur, then, the first time after so many years, and he smiled. He could still remember the way Arthur used to scoff and laugh, the feel of his fingertips on his skin, the way his face lighted up when he smiled. But he had forgotten his silhouette or the smell of his skin; he couldn’t remember the colour of his hair and eyes. He was slowly losing Arthur for the second time. And yet, it was not the bone-deep sadness he felt the day he died he felt, he felt liberated instead. He felt freed off the thin chains keeping him down. He had forgotten about his King and he was finally allowed to be his own person. And so, when he heard of Camelot’s fall and when he realized that he had slowly lost the memory of the man he once tied himself to, he laughed and laughed and laughed.

He was no longer a prisoner.

The freedom allowed him to love again. For the first time in forever, he loved. He fell in love sweetly, not like the rushed affection he felt for Freya or the intense protective love for Arthur. He fell in love easily, feeling his chest contracted and his stomach flutter, mumbling awkward hellos and smiling a shy greeting. The girl he fell in love with was the blacksmith’s daughter, and when he kissed her, she tasted like the baker’s sweetbread. She helped him with his work as the village’s physician, went with him to the woods to collect herbs and flowers and rolled around the ground when he pulled her down with him. She loved him and his magic, all. She never accused him of being a traitor or a monster or an untrue friend because she accepted everything that he was. Her love was easy and sweet and tender and everything he never knew he needed. She even let him shed the aging spell he used to blend in inside of the safety of their house. Until her, he never knew that love could be so accepting and he wanted to weep with joy to have found her.

 ---

She died of old age – peaceful, happy, and loved. And that was all that mattered for him. He grieved for her, yet he relished in the knowledge that he had given her love all through her life – and as she huffed her last breath, she told him – commanded him – to live on. And so, that’s what he did.

He moved out of the village and boarded another ship, settled in another village, lived another life.

He did not fall in love in every place he visited, but he loved. He loved the people he surrounded himself with, he protected them and helped them as they him. He learned to make breads and bake, he was taught carpentry and how to sew and forge. He learned to write in symbols and in words. He learned science and he had debates with other scholars. It didn’t matter that he had been around for far longer than everyone he had ever met; everyday, he felt like he was being reborn again and again with the gift of lifetimes’ memories. He was giddy in life. He loved every single person he had ever encountered though he knew he would forget about them someday. But he loved and loved and loved. 

\--- 

But of course, there were also those periods in time where it wasn’t as good. Periods of time where he became so tired and restless all at the same time – where dying, he thought, was the upmost privilege humankind could ever be thankful for.

He had been cut and shot and he had bled and withered. He had been left alone to his agony, left to scream himself hoarse with nothing to do and no one to hold on to. He had felt his bones mend themselves, drawing the broken pieces back in an agonizing slowness. He had fallen into months’ unconsciousness in a barren land where his body had to recuperate from his blood loss, dehydration, and severe heatstroke.

Those times were when he felt most angry, when he lost his love for life and everyone he had ever encountered – when he hated every single person he had ever cared for and who ultimately left him to his own devices. Those times were when he cried and cursed and begged for death.

But his begs always went unheard and all he could do was to lay down, curled up on his bed, burrowed deep in a cocoon of duvets and pillows and called out to his magic and shut himself off inside of it, drawing a strange, new universe and hide there for months on end.

Then he’d move on.

\---

He went back to the land now called England when everything has changed. He went back not with the ship he went away with, but with the flying machine – airplane – that he absolutely adore. It was almost similar to riding a dragon, but with cosier seats and less icy wind slapping his face.

There were no traces of Camelot, then, and that was probably why he had no trepidation in going back. He settled in London, renting a flat at the outskirt of the city and lived his new life as a writer. 

 --- 

The morning of the day he was thrown back to the loop of life, he didn’t feel queasy or full of anticipations. He went through the process of wake up – shower – breakfast like he would everyday. He picked up his newspaper and made a list of groceries he had to pick up that afternoon as usual. He put on his jacket and boots and locked his door like he would any other day. 

\--- 

He had never met the reincarnations of his Camelot companions throughout his life, but he had met some of the people he knew two or three mortal lifetimes over. So he knew that reincarnation did exist. They never remembered him, though, and their appearances would always change, such as their language and the place they were in their other lifetimes, but somehow, Merlin knew that they were his old friends. And they would always strike an easy friendship. He never met the blacksmith’s daughter or the people he had fallen in love with, though. He was grateful for that because he never knew and wasn’t sure that the love they had could be recreated and reignited with them forgetting and changed and with him having lived different lives since them.

Anyway, because of that fact, he was stunned to find himself face to face with Gwen in front of the supermarket he frequented. First of all, Gwen looked the same. The exact same height and skin tone and curly hair, the same warm eyes and friendly smile. Second, she seemed to _recognize_ him. She looked up at him the instant they bumped into each other and her face lighted up in recognition.

“Pardon,” he said in a rush, nodded at her, and fled – not looking as her face crumpled in confused disappointment.

Once he was in the supermarket, he had to doge and hid in the aisles as he saw Morgana with her basket. She, too, looked the same. He felt nervous, not-knowing what this might mean for him and _them_. He did his shopping faster than he usually did, then, planning to stay holed up in his flat for at least a week to avoid further meetings with the ghosts of his past.

\---

Ironically, ghosts they became. They haunted him after that. He saw Leon jogging around the park he came to every weekend to sketch at. He spotted Gwaine in the bookstore a few streets away from his building. He found Percival in his favourite takeaway shop. He almost bumped into Elyan in one of the bakeries in the shopping mall – and, like his sister, he looked like he recognize Merlin. He – very dignifiedly – ran away before Elyan could go further than opening his mouth. So far, he had succeeded in dodging every one of them. But of course, his luck ran out the moment he ran into Lancelot. Literally.

\---

He was contemplating the merit of bacon cheeseburger over seafood risotto when a manic dog charged at him unprovoked. Knowing his magic would not be fast enough to sooth the slobbery pug, he chose his flight instinct over the fight one and strategically retreat one quick step at a time. He would have fallen down on his face when his feet tripped over a small stone he could swear wasn’t there before, if not for Lance’s fast reflexes. He caught Merlin, righted him up, and when Merlin looked back at the pug-from-hell, the dog only thumped his tail to the ground with his tongue lolling and ran the other way.

Merlin felt cheated. 

“Merlin?” Lance breathed.

It was weird to hear his name again. It has been such a long time since the blacksmith’s daughter, the last person to call him with his true name. He took a sharp breath and retreated a few step.

“Thanks for the help, mate, but sorry, I’m not Merlin,” he said, offering Lance a quick grin and took another step to retreat.

Lance narrowed his eyes, then quirked one of his eyebrows up. “You are a terrible liar,” he said, catching Merlin’s arm in a tight grip and steer him where he was going. 

“No, really. I’m not Merlin and I don’t know who this ‘Merlin’ is. You’ve got the wrong person,” he said again, steadfastly refusing to continue walking. 

“Really, Merlin. You’re just embarrassing yourself now. Come, I am on my way to lunch with Gwaine and Leon, I’m sure they’d like to see you again.” Lance replied in a voice that broke no argument.

Merlin felt sweat prickling at his palms and brows; he did not want to meet them. He did not want to know them anymore. He was free, dammit. He had his freedom. He was living his life. He did not want to have the freedom ripped away from him again, he did not want to be destiny’s pawn any longer, he did not want to be used and treated as no more than a vessel for his magic. He wanted to be his own person and at that moment, he hated Camelot and everyone that was in it.

“Lance…” he exhaled eventually, voice tired and defeated. He knew Lance would understand; he hoped Lance would be willing to release him and forget they ever met. Lance had always been his friend; surely he would do that for him? 

Lance did stop. He turned and looked at Merlin questioningly, concerned by whatever expression he had on at that moment; and then he nodded once, “okay,” he said before pulling out his phone and told Gwaine or Leon, Merlin did not know, that he would miss out on lunch because of a sudden business. He ended the call quickly and steered Merlin to one of the benches in the park. “What is it, then?”

“I…” Merlin didn’t know if he could just say that he did not want to be amongst them to him. It might hurt his feelings. He flushed with anger after that thought, why should he feel bad when he was the one having to live on after everyone left him? And for the first time in his long, long life after he left Camelot, Merlin felt bitter.

“I don’t know how to say this but…I’ve been alive for a long time, Lance. And it was liberating to be in control of my own life. I don’t know if that privilege would disappear if I…” he wrung his hand, not looking at Lance, not knowing how to continue without sounding too harsh.

“You don’t want to know us anymore. You don’t want to be with us,” Lance finished for him. His voice was flat and devoid of any emotion. It was worse than having him stomped on the ground and point a finger at him, screaming ‘you selfish bastard, we don’t want you anyway’, and leave. When Merlin chanced a look at him, Lance was looking at the sky, eyes unreadable.

“Yeah.” Merlin finally said, sitting back to mirror Lance’s pose. 

“That’s selfish,” Lance replied, after a few seconds of silence. Merlin shrugged at that, he did not have any answer to give for that particular observation.

“I guess you deserve to be selfish after everything you’ve done for Camelot,” Lance added, “but there must be a reason we were all gathered here, Merlin. If you help us out now, you might be able to be free again after we’re gone in this lifetime.”

Merlin snorted aloud, “it’s not as easy as standing up and walking out of the door like we had just finished a business deal, you know. If I meet up with you guys again, my life would be tangled up with yours again, I would be who I was again, I would be…” 

“Is this about Arthur?” he asked gently when Merlin didn’t finish his sentence.

“I don’t know, Lance. I just know that…I don’t think I will survive a second wave of Camelot and _Arthur_ ,” he scrubbed his face tiredly.

“Merlin, we need you. Whatever is going to happen, we are not going to succeed without you, that I am sure. It’s not only you, you know. We are just as much a pawn as you are; look at us, being born with the same face, the same name, the same personalities as we once had. Hell, we even had the memory of Camelot that drove me crazy before I met the others!”

Merlin knew that, of course. Their lives had never been entirely theirs, after all. They were never really freed. Perhaps his alone time was only to let him come to his power, not to give him the luxury of enjoying life endlessly.

“Gwen was the first one that said she saw you,” Lance continued, “Morgana thought she caught a glimpse of you, too. Then Leon, Gwaine, Percy, and Elyan. Arthur was livid when he thought he was the only one that hadn’t met you. Now he would be properly annoyed, I’m sure,” he chuckled.

Merlin hated the way his heart twinged at the mention of Arthur. He hadn’t thought about Arthur for a very long time. He had forgotten how difficult it was to love him – to have a love that was all-consuming. With the Blacksmith’s daughter, the love was gentle and passionate and accepting and everything he needed to feel _loved_. With his other past-partners, men or women, it has always been easy and incredible and filled with happiness and ease. There never had been a love like one he had for Arthur. And he didn’t know if he wanted to have that again – that frightening need to protect; that strong, sharp heartbreak everyday he couldn’t be with him; that overwhelming urge to envelop him in the love he deserved. Merlin didn’t know if he had that much love anymore for one single person.

“Merlin, please,” Lancelot eventually say, looking at him earnestly.

Deep down, Merlin was absolutely sure that he would come to regret this, but he also thought that he might have had his run. He scrubbed his face with the palm of his hand before exhaling a long, ragged breath.

“Okay, fine.”

\---

Merlin met the others officially in a pub a few tube rides away from his flat. He chose the place specifically so that he could slip away when he needed to, as the pub of his choice was always crowded on Saturdays, and so that no one would find out where he lived should he decided that he didn’t want to have anything to do with them.

The first person he spotted upon walking into the bar was Morgana. She beamed at him from across the place, walking briskly to him and enveloped him in a crushing hug. He looped his arms around her waist gingerly, unsure of her stance against him at that moment.

“I’m so glad to see you again, Merlin. We’ve been waiting for a long time,” she whispered in his ear.

“Morgana…” he sighed, feeling the tiredness increased tenfold; the age-old tiredness he had successfully hid before his talk with Lance.

“Oh Merlin,” she let go of him and cupped his cheeks, sweeping her thumbs to clear away the tears he hadn’t felt falling from his eyes. “Lance told me everything. He didn’t tell everyone else, don’t worry, but I demanded the information from him. Oh, Merlin, I’m so sorry to force you back with us. But we do need you,” she said empathically, hugging him again before smiling at him softly and dragged him to the table by his arm.

Arthur wasn’t there when he arrived at the table and was thumped on the back by the others. He wasn’t there when he faked cheerful smiles and pleasantries and apologized to Gwen and Elyan for bolting from them, telling them he was just shocked and unsure. He wasn’t there when he listened to the stories of how they met each other again or how they were finally sure they weren’t just losing their wits.

Arthur was waiting, though, after Merlin finished using the loo and cornered him at the corners of the pub, away from their group’s table.

“Merlin…” he said breathlessly, looking at him with a wide, boyish smile.

“Arthur,” Merlin replied with a curt, business-like voice and a grimace he disguised a smile; a contrast to Arthur’s innocent-like wonder.

“I’ve missed you…” Arthur breathed out, carefully reaching out to him, as though unsure if it would be welcomed.

Merlin felt his wariness gave way, because however much he believed he was over Arthur and the overwhelming love he had had for this one man, he also knew that he had never really let him disappear completely from his mind. Merlin almost crumpled right there and then under the weight of uncertainty and fear and grieve and anger and love and love and love.

“Arthur…” he said again, more as a broken sigh and stilted sob. And Arthur replied not with words, but by wrapping his arms around Merlin in a tight, warm hug. A reassurance, a promise, a reciprocation of whatever it was Merlin gave him during Camelot or here, in the now. Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin’s waist and buried his face in the crook of Merlin’s neck, heaving a breath himself; relief, probably, or he was overwhelmed, too.

Merlin didn’t know why they had been reborn or what it will do to him, and he knew that something big was coming for them. But trapped in Arthur’s strong hold, it felt like the world had shrunk into just the two of them, and he couldn’t help but let go of the thought of the looming danger and let himself get lost in Arthur.

\---

That night, Merlin found himself in Arthur’s flat. They were sitting close; huddling beneath layers of thin blankets out on the flat’s porch because of course Arthur was a rich bastard that could not live without luxury even in his new life. Merlin had tried to go back home alone but Arthur had pulled him into a taxi and told him that his place was closer and Merlin couldn’t even walk in a straight line. It would not do for him to fall down the gap between the platform and the tube. Merlin knew that he’d be fine, but explaining why he wasn’t squashed to death might be a bit difficult. So, he acquiesced and let Arthur dragged him towards his flat.

“Tell me about your magic.” Arthur said suddenly, voice loud in the quietness of the night.

“My magic...it’s the only thing I ever could really rely on...because even when all else fades and disappears, it stands by me. There were times…when all I had was my magic.” Merlin answered sombrely, immediately wishing he had not answered with such sappiness. He hated conversations after drinks. His tongue became too loose and he would say things he’d regret saying after he was more sober. He knew all that, deep down, knew that he should just keep quiet or shrug or make non-consequential answers, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help the way his words ran through his brain and shot out of his mouth. He couldn’t help wanting to be honest. Without his inhibitions, he felt like he was bursting with secrets. 

He dared a glance to Arthur and found him deep in his thoughts.

“Were you always alone, Merlin?” Arthur asked finally, the shadows played on his face as the clouds flitted through the sky, covering the moon and letting its light shone through again.

“No,” Merlin quirked a smile, “had affairs every other decades or so. Had a wife once. Lovely woman, still the loveliest woman I’ve ever had the privilege to meet.”

“Wife?” Arthur queried, voice tight like he was snapping the word out.

Merlin hummed, closing his eyes against the cool wind. “She was the blacksmith’s daughter. She loved my magic. Always seemed to be enchanted by it,” Merlin smiles softly at the memory of her entranced face every time he did the smallest of magic. “She let me drop the illusion I held to appear older whenever we were home, and she always teased me for looking young enough to be her grandchild after she grew old.”

“What happened?”

“She died of old age,” Merlin looked up to the starless night. There used to be so much of them, twinkling and glittering like jewels under the sun. He wondered if he had to go away again to see them. He always did found comfort from the stars. “She commanded me to move on, actually. Always the sweetest, she was. Never stingy with her affections and always had my best interests although I should be the one giving her everything in her short life. Well, short, compared to mine.” 

Arthur was quiet for a long time before he asked again, “do you still love her?”

Merlin looked away from the sky and flashed him a sad smile, “I dunno. I did love her. More than anything, at the time. But she passed and I had to move on. I mean, she’d always have a special place cause, you know - she was the first and only person that knew everything about me – my history, my abilities, all, after I left Camelot. And she loved me despite everything. But she was long gone. And feelings fade, don’t they?”

“No.” Arthur turned to him quite suddenly, eyes sharp and determined. “No. Not all feelings fade.”

“Do you still love Gwen, then?”

“No. But to be fair, we were never in love anyway. I did love her and I believe she did, too. But it was more friendship and convenience than anything. I needed a Queen and she lost the love of her life and mine was-”

“I don’t understand what you just said,” Merlin snorted when it was apparent that Arthur would not continue talking.

“Do you still have my mother’s sigil?” Arthur asked instead.

Merlin thought about The Vault, then – a sorry-looking, beat-up metal box he carried around as the only thing he never got rid off. In it, he stored trinkets and memorabilia from the people and places that meant more than the others. He never looked inside of it except for when he added more stuff, and even then, he never looked for longer than necessary. He knew that nostalgia was a bastard thing that would just send him into one of his lockout states where he hid himself inside of his magic. He didn’t want to be a wrapped up shell if he could help it. But he could remember every single thing he had ever put inside of The Vault, and one of the first few pieces he stored was the sigil Arthur had given him. 

“Yeah,” he answered finally, when Arthur cast him a sidelong gaze.

“Do you know what that signifies, Merlin?”

“It signifies your trust? Friendship?” Merlin guessed, not daring to think more.

“All those,” Arthur chuckled, “but. It was more than that, too.”

“Arthur. Please don’t,” Merlin begged, suddenly weary of everything – all this. He can’t bear the intensity of his feelings for Arthur anymore, nor could he stand losing him all over again.

“Merlin.” Arthur turned towards him, face determined. “We can’t drag this any longer than we have. I can’t…I can’t not do anything,” he said, voice breaking like he was tired and wasn’t that what Merlin had always felt about this _thing_ between them?

“I can’t have this, you, and lose it again,” Merlin whispered. And he wanted to move away, to turn back and go out and run towards a place far away from Arthur, from _them_ , but Arthur was right there, gingerly holding his face like it was a precious thing and he was so close Merlin could feel his breath ghosting over his lips.

And when Arthur kissed him, for a moment, it was perfect. It was everything he had been waiting for. And he gave as good as he got.

\---

The nature of their reborn came to them a few months after Merlin’s reunion with the others.

Merlin and Arthur had been slowly building up their relationship again, shifting in their new roles – no longer a master and a servant, but an equal. Merlin was quite amazed at how little awkwardness there was between them; somehow the rhythm of their usual banter came easily and naturally. It was as if they have never been separated. It was as if none of them was forced to live on without the other.

Anyway, Merlin was sat in-between Arthur and Morgana when the first sign of trouble occurred.

The wind had been particularly nasty that day, and why Morgana insisted for them to sit with her in the park was unfathomable. She didn’t even give them good reasons, just something about knowing it was the right place for them to be. Merlin sat with his eyes close, tuning out the sound of Arthur’s and Morgana’s bickering when the sudden clap of thunder startled him.

“Merlin…” Morgana dug her fingernails to his arms painfully, eyes wide where she looked up at the sky.

The clouds were grey and the sky was as dark as it would the middle of a night despite it being three in the afternoon. What was most absurd, though, was the way the clouds were formed in such a way that it resembled a castle – and how the continuous lightning were striking the heart of the castle.

\---

“So…what the fuck are we up against anyway?” Gwaine dropped back to his seat after he finished gaping out the window.

“A priestess,” Morgana came through the door, hair whipping around her. It reminded Merlin of the Morgana who turned against them and it made him nervous.

“Apparently, she was angry at how magic has been forgotten and is overridden by new technologies – blah, blah, blah. What a whiny little brat.” She huffed, and sat heavily on her chair in the round table. Leon reached up to her, drawing circular patterns on the back of her hand to soothe her.

“And we’re supposed to defeat her...how?” Gwen looked up from where she had been burying her head into the palms of her hands.

“Well, we do have the most powerful warlock of all time in our side,” Gwaine grinned wickedly, winking at Merlin’s flushed face.

“Yeah, and you useless lot are going to have to help me get to her,” he retorted with a swift kick to Gwaine’s shin.

“This is going to be a piece of cake,” Gwaine laughed almost too loudly. Merlin was sure he was just masking his nervousness.

\---

It definitely wasn’t a piece of cake.

Elyan had to sit out the fight after a sphinx-like monster almost broke his leg. Gwen adamantly told him to rest and even threaten to tie him up if he wouldn’t stop moving his injured leg.

Percy had to recover alongside Elyan after a scratch from a creature’s poisonous claws. If it wasn’t for Gwaine sucking the poison out and Merlin helping along with the process, Percy might be lost for all. Gwaine wouldn’t admit it, but he was nearly sobbing his lungs out with relief after Percy showed signs of recovery.

Merlin nearly died from stupid things like a wayward piece of desk and a fallen tree twice and Arthur yelled at him long and loud until Merlin felt his ears rang. Arthur was suspiciously always close by Merlin’s side after that – and whenever Merlin pointed this out, he would box him in the ears and said, “shut up, Merlin.”

\---

The priestess was a nasty piece of work. She had a sour face like she had just swallowed endless pieces of lemon. Her hair was all tangled and dirty, and she dressed like she was just dropped off from the medieval time. She screamed a lot about how technology became humanity’s new god and that, she could not accept.

She was impressively dramatic, Merlin must admit. She worked a lot with lightning and setting up imageries in the clouds, but her aim was weak, and the final showdown went like this:

Merlin created a protective ball of energy around his friends, crafting it in a way that if a foul spell was to be casted their way, it would backfire tenfold. Arthur was screaming again, he could hear his muffled screams, and it was almost funny how he became purple in the face. Arthur was demanding his release from the shield so that he could be with Merlin, but he couldn’t risk Arthur; he couldn’t risk any of his friends.

The priestess smirked with a confidence of the damned; her profane smell almost knocked Merlin off his feet. She had been saying Emrys a lot, all through her horridly pretentious speech, as if by saying it enough time would make Emrys disappear.

Merlin was halfway through a spell to blast her away when she was done with her first speech. Things like, ‘people should appreciate the old ways more’ was repeated over and over, and Merlin couldn’t help but rolled his eyes in a very obvious manner. But she didn’t notice, absorbed as she was in her own monologue.

When she realized what was happening, Merlin was already finished with his spell, and she was nearly gone when she threw out one last desperate measure.

Merlin felt his lungs burn long before he realized he was kneeling on the floor. Arthur was running towards him, eyes wild and frantic. Merlin patted his cheek once with a blood-stained hand before his world grew dark.

\---

“You idiot, you fucking idiot,” was the first words Merlin heard upon waking up. His hands were sore where Arthur gripped tightly.

“I can’t die, Arthur,” Merlin said with a weak laugh, voice raspy with lack of fluid.

“You fucking seemed like death for someone who can’t die!” he snapped, voice breaking near the end.

Merlin took a good look at him then. Arthur’s eyes were red and his hair mussed like he had tugged at it frequently. He had a shadow of unkempt beard around his face. And it was that that he felt when Arthur kissed him fiercely, with frustration and anger and relief. So much relief.

They hadn’t kissed again ever since that first night, trying to build their relationship from the beginning – and at that moment, Merlin could only ask himself why they had waited for so long.

\---

\---

**_Some years later, in the future-_**

 

“I found a grey hair today,” Merlin said, leaning on the wall overlooking the backyard garden. Morgana stopped her glasses from reaching her lips for a moment before resuming the movement. She looked at him from the edge of her glass, waiting for him to continue, as she knew he would.

“I mean…I suppose, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but I’ve never had a single grey hair before,” he took a deep breath, “I’m not immortal anymore, Morgana. I’m dying,” he laughed stiltedly at that.

“Do you regret this, Merlin? Regret us? Arthur?” she asked him warily.

“I don’t know,” he scrubbed his face. “I love him, you know that. And now we have this life together. But…I haven’t seen the world again, Morgana. I haven’t…I don’t know. I was used to not dying, I was used to have all the time in the world...but now I don’t anymore and it’s like there are so many things I have yet to do.”

“Welcome to the lives of us, mortals, Merlin,” she smiled, squeezing his arms in reassurance before dropping her hand to her side. “I am sure Arthur would love to travel the world with you. He’d do anything for you, you know that.”

“I know. And I know he wouldn’t want to die without you guys, too. He loves his life here, with everyone, and perhaps I am too. Perhaps the time I thought as my curse was really a gift,” he sighed.

Morgana laid her head on his shoulder, but didn’t say anything. The afternoon was breezy and they were having a barbecue in Morgana and Leon’s backyard. They were closer than ever, after the event of the priestess – with most of them paired up with each other; as if none of them wants to let an outsider in into their group; except maybe later, when Elyan decided that he wanted someone, after all. None of them wanted kids, too. It was an unspoken agreement, it seems, because no one asked about it from his or her respective partners. It was enough with them around, and perhaps it was for the best, him growing old just as they were. 

“Come on,” she said after awhile, straightening up and pulled his hand to the rest of the group. Arthur was waving around a Frisbee dangerously as he gestured some things or another to Lance and Leon, eyes crinkled with laughter. Gwen was swinging around a plastic sword with Elyan, having a mock duel. Gwaine laid on his back with his head on Percy’s lap, reading aloud some book he found amusing while Percy tried his best not to unseat Gwaine’s head while he howled with laughter. 

“Not bad, huh?” Morgana quipped next to him, smiling at the scene in front of them. “I’m not saying that dying like us is a good thing while you’re used to your solitary immortality, Merlin, but think of it this way. Maybe we get to be immortal together in a world different to this one, yeah?” she nudged his ribs.

He grinned at her words, the first big, genuine grin he had after he found that one wayward grey hair that morning. Yes, perhaps by dying along with them, he would not be alone anymore, would not have to feel the loss. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to lose Arthur. Perhaps he could be even more used to the overwhelming love he had for him and not have to fear that love anymore. 

Merlin hugged Morgana tightly, whispering a thank you she replied with a chaste kiss on his cheek. And they laughed out loud when Arthur pulled him from her, tugging Merlin to his side while hollering for Leon to give his girlfriend love so that she wouldn’t steal other people's boyfriend.

“I love you,” Merlin whispered to Arthur's ears when they were fairly away from the others. Arthur froze, looking at him in surprise while Merlin blushed as he pulled away. It was the first time he said it out loud to Arthur, after all.

“What brought this on?” Arthur asked, eyes bright in delight.

Merlin shrugged. Perhaps it’s his acceptance of the all-encompassing love he held for Arthur; perhaps it’s the reassurance he got from growing old, knowing he wouldn't have to live on without him. Perhaps it’s just because he knew it was due time he stopped holding his affection back in fear it would be too much for him to handle. 

“I just…love you, ‘s all,” he said in a small voice as he buried his head in the crook of Arthur's neck.

Arthur nudged his head up, skimming his lips on Merlin’s brows, cheek, chin, murmuring nonsense words of adoration, before finally kissing Merlin's lips.

“I love you too, you know,” he said, breathless after the kiss, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s. Merlin wound his arms tight around him. Yes, it will be fine. He would be fine without his immortality so long as he could spend it with Arthur and their friends, their comrades, their brothers and sisters in arms, their _family_.

He would have one hell of a ‘last’ life.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive comments and kudos are always appreciated ;)


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